


But You're Not Saying Anything

by kiwiya



Category: NXT, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, Kayfabe Divergence, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, and the revival are there too!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 21:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15348756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiya/pseuds/kiwiya
Summary: And Johnny’s just smiling at him like that’s normal small talk, like it doesn’t mean anything, like he doesn’t know- and Tommaso is suddenly so fucking furious he can’t breathe. Because Johnnydoesn’tknow.Johnny doesn’t have his name. Johnny never did.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This breaks from kayfabe during the 4/25/18 NXT show, because way back then is when I started writing it. Rating is set to change with later chapters, but as of now it's pretty tame.
> 
> Also, this is set in that very convenient universe where everyone involved is single.

-

He likes Johnny.

At the start, Tommaso isn’t sure he would be able to say that if “JOHNNY GARGANO” didn’t just happen to be the name scribbled in big, messy letters down the side of his ankle. Knowing him, he probably would have never even given Johnny a second glance if it wasn’t. That thought doesn’t really sit well. But it doesn’t matter- because he did, he did give Johnny a second glance, and a whole lot more glances after that.

The NXT suits ambushed him at the training center one day with their tournament papers and their “would you be willing to fight as a tag team” and their “there are a few other unpartnered new guys we could put with you” and he very nearly walked away, because fuck depending on somebody else to win your matches- but then they asked him “how do you feel about _Johnny Gargano_?” and that was that. Something inside him leapt up at that name, light and electric in his chest, and he stomped it back down because that’s the kind of shit that makes you easy prey in a business like this, but he agreed. He agreed right there on the spot.

He wanted to be disappointed, the first time they met. It would have made everything easier in the long run. Like maybe then he wouldn’t lose his head about this soulmate stuff, the way everybody else always seemed to. Johnny certainly didn’t seem like the kind of soulmate Tommaso had imagined for himself. He was just another small guy (probably why they suggested him in the first place). A measly 199, and, what, like 5’5? He _wanted_ to be disappointed that this was what fate stuck him with: Johnny B. Goode. Johnny nice-guy, Johnny plays-fair, Johnny always-look-on-the-bright-side. Johnny who he kind of doubted could even win a match. Johnny with a terrible haircut and an even worse beard and a boyish twerp’s face and an overplayed spunky underdog gimmick and-

And then Johnny flashed him a warm, hesitant smile, and he wasn’t disappointed. Not even a little bit.

Coming from anybody else, he would probably find the cheeriness exhausting, and the constant grinning would be aggravating, and Tommaso would want to grind his boot down on that childlike optimism until he heard bones crack. He’s done it before. And maybe it’s because of those words on his leg that made him agree in the first place, or maybe he really would have felt this way even without them, but he doesn’t hate these things about Johnny. He doesn’t hate anything about Johnny. Because it’s _Johnny_. He feels… something completely different than hate about Johnny.

When Johnny tells him they’re gonna win, for some reason, he always believes it. And when Johnny’s happy, he feels weirdly, fiercely protective of it. And when Johnny Gargano smiles at him, his heart thuds _hard_ up against his chest. Every time. Every single time.

Johnny smiles at him a lot, it turns out.

They win. Match after match after match. And it feels fucking _great_. If he had reservations at the start, they’re long gone now, because he can’t get _enough_ of tagging with Johnny. He can’t get enough of _Johnny_ , and for some reason, Johnny seems to like him a whole lot too. He can’t even be disappointed when Johnny pins him at the Classic- he tries to, tries to feel hurt and angry and betrayed and all the things you’re supposed to feel when you lose to your- to your-

But then Johnny calls his name, on the brink of tears, and something sharp gets caught up in his chest. In his throat. And when he holds Johnny after that, it almost feels better than winning. ( _Almost_. He’s not quite that big of a sap. Winning would still have felt better.)

They become real, full-time partners after that. And real, full-time friends. They get signed together and it’s the best day of Tommaso’s life. He can’t read minds, but he thinks it’s probably the best day of Johnny’s too. They move into the same house together- work, carpool, all those very normal and mundane things, and also the fact that they’re-

They work well together, somehow, despite their differences. They work _really_ fucking well together. Feeding off each other’s strengths and backing up each other’s weaknesses. Inside the ring and out of it. It seems like it comes as the most natural thing in the world to Johnny, but Tommaso finds himself dumbstruck every time at how well they read each other. They never miss a step. Hell, they could finish each other’s sentences. And something hot and light and persistent in his gut can’t stop singing: _We were meant to do this. This is how it’s supposed to happen._

And something smaller in him thinks, even though they’ve still never talked about their marks: _Johnny must know it too._

-

Johnny drives him home after a particularly brutal match one night. There’s still blood on Tommaso even after the medics get a look at him, his head feels like it’s about to split open and he can barely move his legs. So Johnny gathers him up as best he can, and all but carries him out of the arena to the car. Johnny drums his fingers on the wheel the whole way back, plays soft music in the car, because the one thing he can’t stand when he’s worried is silence - and even with his head pounding like it is, Tommaso can’t find it within himself to be annoyed. He feels oddly touched, actually, that he knows little things like this about Johnny. Like Johnny’s trusting him with a big secret or something. He _almost_ smiles.

(He really is in a lot of fucking pain here, though.)

Johnny helps him out of the passenger seat, one arm around his waist and another gripping the hand that Tommaso slings over his shoulders. Tommaso’s tired from his match, maybe, or he’s loopy from the pain or something, but for a minute it’s as if all he can focus on are Johnny’s fingers suddenly lacing through his. His skin feels hot everywhere Johnny’s holding him. And Johnny always did run as hot as a furnace, but this isn’t that, and-  
  
Tommaso screws his eyes shut and blinks a few times before he reaches the end of that train of thought. He takes a deep breath when they’re inside and squeezes Johnny’s hand, and when Johnny dumps him down on the couch he almost can’t let it go.

“Do you want to go to your room?” Johnny’s voice startles him out of his thoughts. “‘Cos I figured, with your leg, you probably wouldn’t want to go up the stairs. Do you need more ice? Let me get you a blanket or something, man.”

Tommaso is too out of it to tell him not to bother, but that doesn’t matter anyway, because Johnny doesn’t even stay long enough to hear his response before darting off to bring what appears to be every last sheet and pillow from Tommaso’s entire bed down to the couch. Johnny tosses the whole armload gently over him, then bends down to straighten all the blankets, like Tommaso’s completely invalid and not just tired and sore. Johnny sweetheart. Johnny-fucking-tenderness.

And, yeah, ok, Tommaso’s too tired to stop him. Definitely much too tired, definitely, and that’s the only reason he goes so still at Johnny leaning over him, laying practically chest to chest, putting his hands all over him, and- Smoothing the blanket over him, and his arms and his hips and-

Johnny lets out a horrified little noise when he touches Tommaso’s legs, and for a second Tommaso’s stomach lurches, but when he looks down he sees Johnny holding up a hand stained with a tiny splotch of red.

“There’s blood! On your _shoe_! Is it your ankle, did the medics even look at this?” Johnny says, a pained look on his face.

He pushes up Tommaso’s pant leg carefully up and starts untying his apparently bleeding boot, as if he's going to pull it off and play doctor himself, and- Oh.   
  
It’s that boot. It’s that leg, _that leg_ , _that_ ankle, and Johnny’s about to expose his mark if he does this-

And here’s the real kicker: Tommaso almost lets him.

His skin is still buzzing from Johnny’s touch and his head is murky from the match and he almost, almost, _almost_ lets Johnny see it.

He thinks - in a matter of seconds, all the thoughts running through his mind at once - about Johnny carrying him, and him holding Johnny after their matches, about their strangely perfect team and their surprisingly perfect friendship, about Johnny’s dumb hair that he kind of wants to... pull? And Johnny’s dumb face that he kind of wants to- to-

About Johnny’s soft hands and his blinding, beautiful smile, and about how maybe, just maybe, that Johnny would finally see those words on Tommaso’s leg and clap his hands to his mouth and gasp, _Mine too!_

And then he also thinks - and he’ll damn himself a million times for this after the moment has passed - about how Johnny hesitated when they first met. About how strange they really are together. About how much everyone else _loves_ Johnny, about their differences and about good, sweet Johnny with his big bad partner who’s still not really used to trusting another person like this.

And he thinks about how, after all this time, Johnny - Johnny who has never lied to him - _hasn’t said anything about his own mark_.

And he imagines Johnny seeing those words on his ankle, and standing up, and leaving.

So Tommaso kicks out.

“Don’t touch it. I already looked at it, it’s fine.”

Johnny starts to protest, but Tommaso gives him a very grave look, and kicks the blanket the rest of the way up over himself.

“I just need to sleep,” he grumbles. “I’m fine, Johnny.”

Johnny’s already walking away and yammering about giving him some space before he thinks to add, maybe a little too quietly, “Thank you.”

-

So Johnny never sees his mark.

And that’s fair, probably, because it’s not like he’s ever seen Johnny’s mark either? And it’s fine too. For a while. They’re still best friends. They’re still a dream team. A match made in heaven. Something is still buzzing around in the back of Tommaso’s mind that their marks _must_ match, that Johnny must have a good reason for sitting on his own confession. That he can wait for it. That it’s coming.

Because it is coming, isn’t it?

Johnny’s an endlessly lovable guy. He’s probably never pissed off anybody in his entire life. He’s open, he’s kind, he’s easy to talk to, and he makes friends at NXT. He makes a ton of them.

Tommaso’s always been kind of a loner.

And that’s fine too. It’s not that he’s jealous, not that at all. Tommaso’s always appreciated having his space. Johnny’s the only friend he really wants anyway.

The thing is just that... after a while, he starts to feel less certain.

Johnny doesn’t tag with anyone else, of course. Why would he? He actually swears he wouldn’t, unprompted, over a couple beers one night. But something in their team starts to fall out of sync anyway.

They lose their rhythm. They lose the song. And then the Revival catches the scent of blood in the water, and they start losing matches.

They start losing a lot of matches.

And maybe it’s Tommaso, psyching himself out, making this worse than it needs to be.

Or maybe it’s-

Because Johnny’s got a whole lot of other friends now. Practically the whole roster are his friends, hell, half the people grinding them into the mat are Johnny’s friends. And Tommaso’s not jealous, not about _that_. He doesn’t have the energy or the patience to be Johnny’s only friend.

But Johnny is _his_ only friend. And Johnny is his _only_ mark, which means Johnny is his-

Johnny is his soulmate. The only one he is ever gonna get.

Tommaso is scared to hear those words out loud like that even in his own head, because he still hasn’t seen even a glimpse of Johnny’s mark. What he _has_ seen is him and Johnny falling out of sync, and Johnny spending all his time with all his other friends. With Finn and Kassius and Sami and Ember and Candice- especially Candice. Oh does Johnny spend a lot of time with Candice.

Tommaso noticed right away, the first time they all three got lunch together, or the first time they all went to a movie together, or something, what does it matter- that Johnny and Candice are practically the same person, aren’t they?

They’re both so happy, being around them is like a big feedback loop of smiles and sunshine and energy. They make each other happy. They even make Tommaso happy, despite himself; it’s hard to frown around either one of them alone, but it’s impossible when they’re together.

They like all the same sugary foods, they shop at the same dumb stores at the mall (who even still shops at malls?), they watch their same favorite CW shows together (“You’re always invited, Tommaso!”), and they talk tirelessly about all those stupid cartoons they both love. And Johnny will stop in the middle of their workouts to send Candice a selfie sometimes, and Candice will send Johnny panda videos at 3 in the morning that make him laugh so loud he wakes Tommaso up in the next room over, and-

And.

And Tommaso’s starting to feel kind of pathetic for grasping at these straws. And he’s starting to get angry about feeling pathetic. And he still hasn’t seen Johnny’s _fucking mark_ , has he?

Because it does make sense that it would be her name. They’re perfectly in step, they were on the same page before they even met. Meanwhile Johnny and Tommaso can’t seem to get their shit together at all, and they’re only getting worse the longer this losing streak goes on. It has to be her name, because why _else_ , what other earthly reason would Johnny have to spend this long with Tommaso and never once mention his mark? Someone like Johnny should have blurted it out the minute they met. He loves those romantic soulmate movies. He should have said it a hundred thousand different times by now if they were a match.

If.

The next time Johnny and Candice invite him out for “three best friends go to the water park!” or whatever the fuck- The next time Johnny invites him out, he very politely declines. Says he’s not feeling good. He waves the two of them off despite their painfully genuine concerns and he sits at home. He watches TV very, very casually. He doesn’t chew on his lip until it starts to bleed a little, and he doesn’t pull every fraying string out of the couch. He doesn’t.

Nobody gets to pick their mark, that much Tommaso is becoming achingly aware of. He doesn’t hate Candice for this. How could he? She’s been a friend to him all this time, and a good one at that.

But he does kind of hate Johnny, a little. Because Johnny’s just too good for him. Isn’t that the problem here? Johnny has always been too _good_ for Tommaso Ciampa, and everyone has always been able to see it except him.

Everyone expects him to turn on Johnny, to hurt their lovable Gargano, the darling of Full Sail. And he really fucking hates fate for doing this to him, for giving him a mark that he’s becoming more and more certain by the day has no match. It would’ve been better not to be marked at all. Not to get his hopes up. Not start to-

It would’ve been better to never even meet Johnny than to be constantly letting Johnny down these days, than feeling so damn pitiful about it. It would’ve been better to never even meet him than to watch Johnny’s open fondness start to dim into wariness and uncertainty when Tommaso can’t do anything but _rage_ after their matches, better than to lay at home like this groaning and whining and thinking about stupid Johnny, who’s out with his friends and might never come back, and stupid Johnny who he’ll never get his hands on no matter what he does because his own stupid name isn’t on Johnny’s stupid skin.

And he hates, hates, _hates himself_ for feeling like this at all.

He’s distracted all the fucking time now, thinking about Johnny. He’s distracted in the ring.

He gets injured.

He gets injured at fucking house show because he couldn’t keep his traitorous mind off-

He doesn’t tell Johnny right away.

Johnny can promise left and right that he doesn’t want another partner, but if this is bad and Tommaso isn’t better by Chicago, and they’re tag team wrestlers, then those promises don’t mean anything, do they? Johnny will take a new partner. He’ll have to. And then Johnny will move on. Johnny will replace him in the ring with somebody who doesn’t fuck up all their matches, somebody who can actually protect him, somebody who can pull their own weight.

And if they’re not partners anymore, then Johnny won’t have any more reason to spend time with him, really. Johnny will spend all his time with his other friends. With Candice LeRae whose name is almost certainly written in cute little cursive on his ass or his foot, or one of the few parts of Johnny that Tommaso hasn’t seen. And Johnny’s going to forget about him. And that’ll be the end of that.

He doesn’t tell Johnny at all, actually.

Johnny hears about the injury on Twitter the next morning. Because right on cue, as if all his insecurities had been projected up on the big screen when he walked out of that ring, fans start looking for a new partner for Johnny. Who’s gonna be the best replacement for Tommaso Ciampa? Who’s a better match for Johnny? Who’s _better_ for Johnny than Ciampa was?

They only suggest everyone else on the roster.

To his credit, Johnny does call the second he sees rumors of what happened. “Are you okay?” he spits out over the phone, sounding genuinely worried. “Are you with the trainers right now, is that why you’re not at the hotel? Can I do anything?”

But he doesn’t ask why Tommaso didn’t tell him. And underneath Johnny’s concern, all Tommaso can hear is: _Will you still be able to wrestle?_

Something anguished inside him is screaming that he needs to tell Johnny _right fucking now_ , that he needs to get home and show Johnny his mark before it’s too late, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t need that. He stomps the feeling down, and it fights back, and he smothers it.

When he does get home later, he tells Johnny it’s not serious. He’ll be fine by tomorrow. He’ll wrestle in Chicago.

“Hey, that’s great. I’m glad you’re okay, buddy.” Johnny smiles weirdly at him. After an uncomfortably silent second, he laughs a little, and adds: “Y’know, the internet had some really wild ideas today about other people for me to tag with?”

And Johnny’s just smiling at him like that’s normal small talk, like it doesn’t mean anything, like he doesn’t know- and Tommaso is suddenly so fucking furious he can’t breathe. Because Johnny _doesn’t_ know.

Johnny doesn’t have his name. Johnny never did.

Then they lose in Chicago. Tommaso blows his knee out during the match, and when he looks in Johnny’s eyes on the ramp afterwards, there are three things he’s certain of: One, that this time his injury is serious. Two, that whatever Johnny’s mark says, it does not say “Tommaso Ciampa.” And three, that _he_ is not the one who’s going to be forgotten here.

He puts Johnny in the fucking hospital.

The next day, Tommaso gets his mark tattooed over. Standard procedure; cover-ups are perfectly common for stupid fucking fuckups with stupid fucking one-sided marks like his. A solid, featureless black bar, wrapping down his ankle.

Problem solved.


	2. 2

-

Johnny thought it might have been the happiest moment of his life so far when he got that call back from Full Sail - _Yes, we’d like you for the Tag Team Classic, yes, we want to give you a real shot_. But he nearly dropped his phone right on the floor when the man on the other end of the line said: “Another singles wrestler requested you already. Would you be willing to tag with _Tommaso Ciampa_?”

He felt like he could die on the spot. He felt like he could sing. Because that was _the name_ written on his skin, in small black letters, right on the cut of his hip. The name he’d seen in the mirror every day for nearly thirty years, the name he’d been waiting his whole life to hear. And that name requested _him_ specifically, which meant- which had to mean-

He didn’t even let the man on the other end finish talking before blurting out, “Yes, absolutely, I will absolutely team with Tommaso Ciampa. I’ll be there first thing tomorrow. Thank you so, so much.”

He could barely sleep at all that first night, for how much his heart was racing. He knew marks weren’t a sure thing, sure, that there were pairs who never worked it out, and people with marks that didn’t match up, _sure_ \- But there were also people who _did_ match and people who _did_ work out, and really, who wouldn’t be excited to finally meet their soulmate?

So he couldn’t stop running every corny romance movie he’d ever seen on repeat through his brain, with himself as the lovable protagonist professing “You’re mine!” as the very first words he’d ever say to his- what, tall, suave, handsome, maybe Italian?- and they would kiss in the rain and move in together and kick fucking _ass_ as a tag team and- and everything-

He took a deep breath, but it might as well have been a shot of espresso, for all the good it did.

life wasn’t like the movies. It didn’t have to be, because this was still going be his soulmate no matter what. He was still going to tell this _Tommaso_ , first thing. The first words out of his mouth.

He _was_.

Except…

Well, Tommaso wasn’t exactly what Johnny had prepared himself for. He had a dark beard and a stern face and these _sharp_ , sharp eyes. That wasn’t the problem though- if Johnny was being honest, that all was actually a plus. It was just that... he froze up at first. Just for a second, and he missed that very first beat of their introduction.

And then Tommaso was staring at him in this weird, scowly way, like he was being sized up, and Johnny hesitated again. He just smiled dumbly. By the time Tommaso actually relaxed and smiled back at him the manager was already pushing them off down the hallway, and the conversation wasn’t about introductions anymore, and it would have been awkward to say it then. He missed his first shot.

It was okay though, he told himself, he would just bring it up later that day. But he didn’t get another chance on the first day, they were put through such a whirlwind of an orientation. And the next two days the trainers split them up for individual assessments, he barely even saw Tommaso at all. And then by the fourth day, it was… Well, it was too late.

If he couldn’t tell Tommaso when they first met, then he ought to tell him some time that was meaningful, right? Like after their first match or something. You only get to tell your partner once, after all. He wanted to please- well, he wanted to please everyone, usually, but this was different, _this_ was an absolutely fierce feeling in his chest. He wanted to please Tommaso more than anything. The first time that stony face smiled at him-

He really, really wanted to please Tommaso.

So he was more than just happy when they won their first match- and they won it handily, because they were a _really fucking kickass team_ , just like Johnny had imagined. He thought about telling Tommaso right there in the ring, when they were all sweaty grins and laughter and Tommaso couldn’t seem to keep his hands off him. But then another little thought lit up in his head: What if they won? Like, won the whole thing? And he could tell Tommaso _then_?

They didn’t win the whole thing, though. They lost in the next round. And it was too embarrassing to bring it up after that. Johnny couldn’t help but feel like he jinxed them.

He thought about bringing it up if they won their first match after the Classic, but they lost that one too. And then he thought about bringing it up when they signed to NXT together, that would have been a great time, right? But he didn’t want to make it seem like he was just bringing it up to apologize for all the losses or something. So he didn’t mention it then either.

Every time he thought about telling Tommaso, he hesitated, or something else came up, or the moment just wasn’t right. And time flew by when they were together. It was like he blinked and it was half a year later and they were living together and glued to each others’ sides and Tommaso was, like, already his best friend?

And by then it really _was_ weird. He didn’t actually have a good reason for never mentioning it, not really. So wouldn’t his partner be upset to find out Johnny had been keeping his mark a secret all this time? Wouldn’t he be disappointed? As if Johnny hadn’t wanted to tell him, as if Johnny was ashamed, or disappointed?

He knew how sensitive Tommaso was to his judgement, much as he tried to never let it show. He saw it in his eyes when they lost matches, when they trained with other people, when they talked their pasts and their futures and their dreams for a call-up. There was exactly one person in the entire world whose judgment could actually hurt Tommaso, and for some reason, it was him. And Johnny didn’t want to fuck that up for the world.

So, okay, then he felt like he needed an even _more_ perfect moment, to make up for all the lost time. Or at least a good explanation.

And then, also, that one other little thing started to nag at him: Tommaso still hadn’t said anything about his own mark.

Tommaso was a private kind of guy, Johnny got it. He didn’t really expect Tommaso would say anything to him about it unless he confessed first. That’s just what he was like, and Johnny wouldn’t change it. But it was still... a little, nagging thought. It made him hesitate. And the longer he waited, the harder it got to work up the nerve.

And now, he thinks, now it’s been almost a year, a whole year biting his tongue, and it still just keeps getting harder.

Because Tommaso’s kind of… an intense guy. He’s not a bad guy, not at all, and especially not to Johnny. People always get that wrong about him because he’s so cold when you first meet, maybe, or maybe just because he’s bald now. But he does laugh, he’s a good friend. He can be shockingly gentle. There’s just something _so serious_ about him even when they’re not in the ring. He’s got those steel grey eyes that Johnny swears can see right through him. And he so rarely smiles, like genuinely smiles. Johnny loves his smile. He loves-

The smile. He loves the smile.

Usually he’s really good at predicting how Tommaso will react to things. Almost always, actually. He’s better at it than anyone else, way better. They’re best friends, so why shouldn’t he be? And he’s _pretty_ sure Tommaso would be happy even if Johnny just casually dropped the news about his mark in the car, or over takeout or something.

He’s pretty sure Tommaso would pull him in and hold him close like he does after matches, and not even care that it took him the better part of a year to come clean, maybe even cry a little. He’s pretty sure Tommaso’s mark matches his.

Pretty sure.

And he’s always pretty sure about this, right up until he gets it in his head that the moment is finally right. And then, right before he opens his mouth, he starts to wonder.

Like, maybe Tommaso would actually be mad with him, for taking so long. Maybe it would sour their bond. Or maybe Tommaso would think he was just bringing it up now because of some past match he fucked up, or some upcoming match he was worried about, and maybe that would make him feel used. Maybe Tomasso would think Johnny was teasing him, or humoring him, or patronizing him. Or maybe - and this is the thought he never lets himself reach the end of - maybe their marks just don’t match. Maybe that’s why Tommaso’s never said anything.

Never even shown any curiosity at all.

So he keeps chickening out, again and again. He dreams about telling him. He dreams about Tommaso smiling, _really_ smiling at him, and he dreams about being the one to put that smile there. And he has nightmares too about Tommaso scowling at him, and staring right through him, and about being the one to fuck up everything that’s going so well for them. About losing matches. Losing his best friend. Losing his-

So he keeps quiet, alright? What else is he supposed do? Confessing is a lot harder than it seemed in the movies.

He doesn’t tell Tommaso.

-

The Revival catch him alone outside the locker room one afternoon. It’s a two on one jump, he throws his arms up instinctively to protect his head, but he already knows he doesn’t stand a chance. The only thing running through his mind when they start kicking him into the wall is _Not the floor, don’t let them get you on the floor, they’ll break your ribs if they get you on the floor_ -

He doesn’t even shout, or at least he doesn’t think he did- but somehow, suddenly, there’s Tommaso flying at Dash and Dawson as if Johnny had pulled him right out of a hat. It’s enough of a distraction that Johnny has a second to get back on his feet, and the Revival might be snakes, but they’re not stupid enough to try and take the two of them together like this. They blow out of there as fast as they came in, jeering the whole way.

It’s only once they’re out of sight that he takes a step towards Tommaso. Johnny’s fine, he’s actually, for-real fine thanks to his partner’s apparent psychic powers, but his legs are kind of wobbly for some reason and then his knees buckle and, oh, _shit_ -

For a split second Johnny’s sure he’s about to eat concrete, but then, again, Tommaso’s there so suddenly it’s like he’d seen what was coming. There’s hands at his sides faster than Johnny can register and his chin knocks against Tommaso’s shoulder, because Tommaso is under him, holding him, and- of course he’s there. Johnny almost laughs at the situation, because of _course_ Tommaso’s there.

He vaguely registers that Tommaso is asking him if he’s okay or something- but Tommaso’s hands have, at that point, slid down to hold his hips, and for some reason that fact is so distracting he can barely talk. Johnny turns to bury his face in Tommaso’s neck and, without really thinking about it, breathes a quick “Yeah, I’m good now” right against his skin.

Tommaso freezes underneath him. For a second, Johnny really thinks, _this is it, I should tell him right now_ , because Tommaso’s holding his breath and his thumb is pressed right there above his mark, rubbing into his skin, and with his mouth just a hair’s breadth from Tommaso’s neck, it seems so urgent-

But Tommaso pushes them apart suddenly, holding Johnny up at an arm’s length as if he’s equal parts scared that Johnny will fall to the floor and that Johnny will lean in and bite him.

“Earth to Gargano, did they kick you in the head or something?”

His voice is trembling, but Johnny is kind enough not to mention it.

Johnny stands up fully then and shakes Tommaso’s hands off him. He feels like he ought to be furiously embarrassed, but really he just feels- a little disappointed, a little sore. A little bit of something he doesn’t want to think too hard about.

He shakes his head and flashes Tommaso a winning smile.

-

Tommaso gets hurt.

Johnny sees it. He sees Tommaso twist his ankle and limp out of the arena. And when he meets Tommaso backstage to say something, he sees Tommaso put on a perfectly straight face for him, and walk perfectly surely away, and only slump back into limping when he thinks Johnny’s out of sight.

So it’s a pride thing, maybe? Every nerve in his body is screaming that he should stay by the clinic until Tommaso comes back out, make sure everything is okay, but this is just days away from Chicago, and Tommaso’s being so weird, and there’s a little voice in the back of his head that says acting overly concerned now, when Tommaso is trying to hide it, will only seem like he’s prioritizing the match instead of caring about his- friend.

So Johnny keeps his mouth shut. He greets Tommaso after the show like nothing happened. He even lets Tommaso drive them back to the hotel- and if he has to clench his fist the entire time to be able to keep his mouth shut, well, Tommaso is none the wiser.

Tommaso falls asleep like a sack of bricks and Johnny immediately checks his phone to see if anyone in the audience noticed- to make sure there’s not already some article up “leaking” a serious injury in #DIY.

There’s nothing of the sort. He breathes such a loud sigh of relief he thinks he would have woken Tommaso up on a normal night. There’s nothing official online at all; just a bunch of fans who noticed his limp speculating about their most insane dream replacements for Johnny at Chicago. They only suggest everybody from Velveteen Dream to The Undertaker.

Feeling mostly relieved, Johnny laughs himself to sleep at the prospect of teaming with anyone else in the world.

It’s not until he wakes up the next day and finds their room empty that he gets worried.

There’s more believable rumors online about an injury now, and even though he really doesn’t want to embarrass his partner, Johnny can’t stop himself from picking up the phone, and-

“Are you okay?” Silence. “Hey, Tommaso, are you okay? Are you with the trainers right now? Is there anything-?”

Tommaso grumbles at him and hangs up.

Johnny feels on the verge of- something, all day long. Like he’s holding his breath. When Tommaso comes back late in the evening and says he’s fine, Johnny’s embarrassed at how much he feels like he could cry.

Instead, he tries to diffuse the emotion in the room with something a little stupid and lighthearted, like “Hey, did you know those goons on twitter wanted me to partner with Triple H instead of you?”

Tommaso doesn’t laugh. He looks at Johnny with the coldest and angriest eyes Johnny has ever seen in his life. And then he goes to bed.

-

They lose in Chicago.

Nobody else saw it coming, but somehow, to Johnny, it felt inevitable.

What he _didn’t_ see coming was waking up in the hospital two days later with stitches in his forehead and all the light in the entire world extinguished.


	3. 3

-

It drags on for months.

Tommaso is running on auto-pilot, he thinks sometimes. The surgery is barely a memory. The physical therapy flies by. His new apartment is dark and empty and more than half a year later it's still full of unpacked boxes. He still can’t think about anything but laying hands on Johnny Gargano. He hits Johnny every chance he gets.

He hits Johnny like he means it. He hits Johnny like his life depends on it. And then he goes home and he sits in the dark and the weeks blur into months and he can’t _stand_ it. He can’t fucking stand this dancing around each other, winning and losing and winning and losing like this is just some _feud_ and the rest of his life doesn’t depend on winning. Like he just wants to fight Johnny for the sake of it, like one of them can just _win_ and then all of this can put behind them. Like Johnny’s name isn’t going to be a burning brand of a failure marking up his body for the rest of his fucking life. Like he could ever look at Johnny again. Like Johnny could ever look at him-

One of them has to go. That’s the only way this can end.

So it doesn’t even matter when he loses at New Orleans. Fuck it, that match doesn’t even count. None of these matches count where it really matters, not so long as Johnny keeps showing up, week after week, like a personal little ball and chain. Tommaso can’t eat, he can’t sleep, he can’t focus on anything except _Johnny_. All this time, the breakup didn't free him at all. It's still just Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, and the things he wishes he could have, and the things he wishes he could forget.

So, yeah, he really needs Johnny _gone_.

If Johnny wins Black's title, that’s never happening. So Tommaso takes matters into his own hands. Again.

He finds Johnny backstage, miraculously alone even though his match is a whole segment away, and miraculously with his guard down even though he should know better by now. He should have _known_ Tommaso well enough by now to be prepared for this. Even after all this time, it still stings to realize in yet another way that Johnny isn't really on his wavelength. Isn’t his. Can’t possibly be.

Tommaso chomps down on that thought like leather when he charges from behind and throws Johnny into the wall.

Johnny fights back immediately, for whatever that’s worth. Knees Tommaso in the face and scrabbles a hand against his scalp like he's trying to drag him by the hair. Like he’s forgotten.

Tommaso slams into him again, and again. He’s pushing Johnny into the back, throwing him through curtains and doors until they’re back in some utility hallway or something, but he’s seeing pure red and he can’t care where they are so long as he can throw Johnny against something else.

Johnny pulls up a knee before he’s fully dazed; Tommaso doesn’t see it and it knocks the wind out of him. When Johnny slams a shoulder into him, he realizes he’d been yelling the entire time, and Johnny's shouting too.

“- _rid_ of me? What do you mean, _why can’t you get rid of me_!” Johnny howls like he’s a wounded animal and swings a fist wildly at him, connecting right with his throat and sending him reeling backwards, choking for air.

Johnny takes this second of disorientation to shove Tommaso backwards, until his back hits a ceiling-high pile of tables, and then to keep shoving. Johnny pins an elbow up against his injured throat, holding him in place as sharply as if he had drawn a knife.

The redness and the bruises are starting to show oh Johnny’s body, but his eyes are wild like he can’t feel it at all. And they’re- wet, in a way that would make Tommaso want to laugh at how weak that is, if it didn’t make his stomach churn even now to see tears in Johnny’s eyes. Johnny pushes the elbow harder into his throat and holds Tommaso’s gaze on him as if he’s the only thing in the world worth looking at.

He doesn't know that he is.

Without moving his elbow, Johnny grabs Tommaso’s arm with his free hand. Tommaso braces himself to be thrown, or to take a DDT into the floor. It doesn’t come.

“Why can’t you _get rid of me_? You son of a bitch, you know why you can never get rid of me?”

Johnny drags his hand down Tommaso’s arm, slowly, touching his hand for half a second before he locks his fingers around Tommaso’s wrist.

They exhale in tandem.

He pulls Tommaso’s hand to his waist, to the top of his shorts. For a second-

Johnny uses Tommaso's hand to shove the band of his shorts down, less than an inch, and there- _there_ -

There, under his fingers, is his own name, in his own small, tight handwriting. A perfectly straight line across the cut of Johnny’s hip. Clear. Legible.

_Tommaso Ciampa._

Johnny yanks his hand closer until his whole palm is pressed against the mark. He wants to touch it. He wants to run his fingers over it. He feels overwhelmingly like he wants to kiss it, like he wants to-

And then Johnny sends him flying backwards.

“You asshole! Whatever I did to deserve all this, it must have been pretty fucking awful, huh? Don’t let this little thing stop you!”

Johnny throws him again, to the ground this time, but Tommaso is too dazed to react.

His name. His _name_. Right there on Johnny.

Johnny kicks at his leg, weak and desperate and sloppy.

“Get up! What’s wrong with you? Why would _this_ change anything? Get up and keep fighting me!”

Tommaso’s next move is pure instinct. He’s been imagining doing this for so long, he doesn’t even think about it. His hands move down of their own accord to roll up his pant leg- and Johnny makes a choked sound.

“Don’t. Please..."

He pulls his boot down, and Johnny goes silent and pale.

It’s as if Tommaso suddenly snaps back into his body. His eyes jerk down to the exposed black mark on his leg, and then to Johnny, whose face is screwed up like he’s barely holding back tears, and oh fuck, oh no, fuck, _oh_ -

Johnny slams a furious kick into his side, one that sends Tommaso sprawling over with stars in his eyes.

“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you," he starts, with a violent and shaky growl like Tommaso has never heard out of him before. "I don’t know what made you start pulling shit like this. But that? That is _not_ my name.”

Johnny sounds more serious than Tommaso has ever heard him sound.

He sounds desperate.

Johnny kicks him again, toe landing square in his chest, knocking the wind out of him so hard he can’t respond.

“I don’t care what kind of game you’re playing, alright? You’re insane, but not even you would actually cover up- I already know that is _not_ -! Because there is somebody else out there who- wh-” Johnny’s voice cracks so sharply it makes Tommaso feel like he's been kicked again.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go. This isn’t how any of it was supposed to go. He would shout if there wasn’t a boot on his throat. He needs to explain- he needs to-

“Because there’s gonna be somebody else out there for me, and it’s _not you_!”

Johnny slams a foot down onto his face, and that’s the last thing he remembers.


End file.
